Don’t fall in love with a girl who only 
functions during Tuesdays
 and Fridays and is dead during the rest of the week. You will have 
to pump her chest—revive her heart—using your own hands until
 you’re weary and you yourself are having a hard time
 catching your breath; while she’s lying
 still on the floor with her eyes open but not seeing anything. You will
 then end up telling her ‘have a good sleep, love’ when in reality, 
you want her to grab your neck
 and kiss you nonsense.
 You will have to double your existence so you could fill the
 void within her—something
 that she will never ask from 
you; but because you love her,
you’ll still do it. ‘Walk by yourself,’ she
 will tell you some days. But you can’t leave
 her alone. So instead you’ll tell her 
’no, love, we’re going to travel 
together’ and you will then teach
 her how to walk again. ‘Why are you
 doing this?’ she will ask you, her 
eyes as empty as she looks.
 A big lump in your throat will
 then start to form with the certainty
t hat she, in any second, will tell you 
to stop being patient and leave
 her alone. With this big lump comes
 also the certainty that you, without
any doubt and hesitation, will tell 
her: ‘I’m here to watch you live fully during your good days, to celebrate with you and to always, always revive 
your heart during your bad days, when you can’t live for yourself.
—  i.v.c., i’m sorry you fell in love with a sad girl 
It’s so easy to lose yourself
in every bad storm that comes
your way and so it’s important
to know that life is a series of
sunken ships and islands struck
by hurricanes but we always
find a way to survive and that’s
something to remember on
the days when you can’t
see past the rainclouds and
feel like you’re drowning
in the sky.
—  Every day is a storm that teaches us how to live
I watch for you across the room
and for me it’s like magnetic
favoritism - I know I’d be pulled
to you and only you no matter
who else was around. Fast
forward, we’re the last two
people on earth and you still
don’t choose me. The whole
earth is a one-bedroom loft and
there’s no where to go that
doesn’t feel like you should be
sleeping beside me. No where
to go that doesn’t feel like this
was a mistake. There should
never be love this one-sided.
—  Rebeka Anne, it’ll never be me

She is ocean tresses, she is seaside whispers, she is gentle waves.
You gaze into her eyes, and she is everything.
You think, she is how you want to die.

She is rosy cheeks, she is blossoming heartbeats, she is fragrant footsteps.
You stare at her, and she is beautiful.
You think, she is the reason for life.

She is sunlight smiles, she is starry eyes, she is lunar lullabies.
You take one look at her, and she is glowing.
You think, she is heaven and more.

I wish I hugged you more, I didn’t at the time, but now I wish I did. I think back to us and didn’t understand why I did the things I did, but I did. I opened another door and you weren’t behind it. I don’t know why, I was scared and I didn’t know at the time. I’m sorry, it wasn’t okay.
—  Michael Daaboul

I’m sorry for January 25, 4:41PM. You tasted like eternity, and for a brief moment in history all of time and space pressed into my chest.

And the Universe said “I love you.”
And the Universe said “please light me on fire.”
And the Universe said “we are skin;

The friction of your flesh on mine feels like the sparks of a subway train on a one-way ticket to Home.”

I used to think that I could control the wind, you see -
I would sit in isolation, talking to breezes that passed me by,
Befriending the ghosts of ancient storms and
Commanding them enter into my ocean chest.

Your eyes are the black before a hurricane,
And the wind said “I love you.”
And the wind said “I will extinguish the flames.”
And the wind said nothing, but a gunshot echoes with each passing storm.

Loving you tastes like a suicide note jammed
Between my tongue and my heart.
Loving you is the smoking bullet I shot into the Sun.

And the Winter said “I love you.”
And the Winter said “let there be wind.”
And the Winter said “I remember the dates of phony subway tickets. You taste like a snowstorm in July.”

—  7-weeks//My Heart: a Subway Station in the Cold.

You were too eager for my body,
but never for my heart.
You wanted the taste of my skin
but never a smile on my lips.
You only ever wanted to make love to me,
without love.
You never wanted to be the one to put a ring on my finger.
I was never good enough

Requested poem to anon

—  (A.) on letters-2-myself|tumblr